A Tale as Old as Time
by Teddy'sTwin
Summary: Once Upon a Time has given us a story line to love and cherish, but not everything. Here is the story of Rumpelstiltskin and Belle as they learned to love one another. Maybe there's something there we didn't see before.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey all! I haven't written a fanfic and published it in about an age now. College will do that to you, let me assure you. ANYways, it's not my fault. It's not my fault that Rumpelstiltskin and Belle were the best couple in the show so far, and it's not my fault that there wasn't enough of it to satisfy me. SO! I made up for lost bits, lost thoughts. So, enjoy reading as much as I have writing! **

**Genuine disclaimer: I do not own these characters, despite my love for them.**

"I will go, with you, forever," the girl vowed, determination coloring her tone. Her bright blue eyes and her long, curled hair caught the candlelight with a shine of true beauty.

"Deal," he bubbled excitedly. He was thin, gaunt, grim looking, and his impish features were maliciously delighted as he stole the girl away from the only life she'd known.

Chapter 1

~: Belle :~

Dark Castle suddenly loomed before her as his magic let her go. They'd been transported here in whir of darkness that set her spine shivering, the image of the castle not much comfort to her terror. She could scarcely take it in as she tilted her head back to see the tall spires, before he towed her forward. She came without hesitation, stumbling up the dark stone steps. He continued to drag her away by the arm, his grip tight and unrelenting.

Despite all the courage it had taken to speak up to her father, to Gaston, to agree to go with this monster, she could barely breathe in his presence, his features so menacing. Where had her bravery gone?

He marched her through the great double doors that swung open at a mere gesture of his hand, and pushed her through them with enough force to make her stumble. In the main hall he led her to another set of double doors, which opened again at a flick of a hand. She couldn't help but be fascinated. Magic was something that she had always been fond of.

Inside the house so far, to her surprise and small delight, was not dark and menacing as she had thought it would be. In this room he was taking her through the walls' colors were bright, light. The dining table wasn't chipped, or cracked, but long and beautiful, but it only had one seat at it. This wasn't at all how she had pictured the inside of Dark Castle. There were supposed to be skulls and the skeletons of men lying in corners, spider webs and cocoons full of bugs that would eat people alive, potions on the wall with a boiling brew pot and a green fire. Wasn't that what Rumpelstiltskin was?

She wanted to explore more of Dark Castle. If this room was so- quaint- then what were the other rooms like? Was this room the only pretty room?

A cabinet with several pedestals in front of it lay just before them as they walked. She wanted to stop, to see what was inside, but his pace was persistent.

"Where are you taking me?" her curiosity opened her mouth before she could even think.

His sly eyes fixed on her as his wicked face contorted into something akin to a sneer. "Let's call it your room," he turned back to leading her through the dining room. Before she passed through another set of double doors she caught a glimpse of a large spinning wheel in the corner of the room. A spinning wheel?

It was gone from her sight before she could consider it further. He led her down two staircases, not an elaborate maze as she feared, but something she could remember, thinking of the middle landing with at least half a dozen doors on it. The second landing was grimmer than the rest of the house had been thus far, and she hoped they would pass through it quickly. When he stopped at a prison room door, she stopped. The door swung open.

"My room?" she gasped as she saw the straw pallet on the floor, and the barred windows.

"It sounds a lot better than dungeon." He was laughing as he pushed her inside, his dark, snide, humorless chortle. She turned around only to see the door close, heard him chortle again before he began to skip away.

"You can't just leave me here!" she shouted, running to the door and pounding against it. It was locked. She was locked in, captured. Panting, she pounded only a few times more before giving up the fruitless effort.

There was no point in escaping this room, just as there was no point in trying to escape this Castle. She had signed her life away. Forever. Forever was an awfully long time. She sank to the stone floor, the adventure that had been stirring in her veins running cold, all pursuit of bravery draining out of her. Locked in a castle, if not a room, forever. She was shaking, as though she was trying to warm her now freezing heart as it barely stuttered to work. All her dreams, her plans of leaving and travelling all over to discover and explore, her father, gone, all in one day.

She didn't realize she was crying until she heard herself sob. She curled her body up, drawing her legs in close and wrapping her arms around them, head on her knees, she let herself cry. She let her dreams drip away into the stone cold fortress that would forever be her prison, letting all of her hopes dry into the crags and cracks that made up this dark place.

She didn't know when sleep claimed her, but she welcomed the oblivion gladly as she slept dreamlessly through the night.

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

Rumpelstiltskin chortled his way back up to his tower, delighted. Miserable little creature she was going to be, he could tell. Her poor spoiled ego would get used to that poky straw mattress after a few months or so. She'd learn humility in that little dungeon of hers. If not, well, he could always feed the ogres with such a pretty treat.

No, no, he reminded himself. He had plans for this girl.

He'd been surprised that she had offered to come back to Dark Castle in the first place. Her beauty, her bright, ornate clothing, he was sure that she was a pompous brat that had been allowed to do as she pleased because of her father's wealth. He'd thought she would have screamed in outrage at the idea, and he'd known her father couldn't give her up after that.

It's one of the reasons he'd made the offer. It was always one thing to annoy the ogre clans at times, and another to deprive them of a whole village. They would not be happy with him. Well, who cared? No one was happy with him. How could they be, when he stole fiancés away and enslaved daddy's little girl? No matter.

Maybe she had been dying to get away from that overbearingly obnoxious sword happy idiot. "The young lady is engaged to me." Honestly. As if he was interested in her love. He giggled aloud at the idea. No, no, this girl was going to be a pawn in his plan.

He was certain there was no way she could clean Dark Castle. The girl looked like she hadn't cleaned anything in her life, let alone washing the stone floors, sweeping away dusty cob webs, washing dishes, laundering clothing, polishing shoes and silverware, and dusting paintings. She was doomed to fail. And when she did he'd be ready with an offer. Something she couldn't resist. Married off to a Prince, perhaps? Or maybe a Duke? Princes were hard to come by at these times, but maybe. She was pretty enough; anyone with eyes would want her. And then, when she was married off, she'd give him her first born child.

He chortled to himself again, half skipping up the circular spire that lead to the tallest part of his tower, where his mind left the poor little rich girl in her dank little cell and began to work on potions that were half finished, and a spell he still was working on. People wanted the strangest things in desperate moments, and he was willing to do just about anything these days, as long as there was something in it for him. When two people both want something the other has, a deal could _always_ be struck.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: You guys! All the reviews have been so kind so far! Thank you! I hope you all will continue to like it! Let me know what you think! **

Chapter 2

~: Belle :~

Morning lit the window as she woke stiffly. Somehow she'd fallen sideways and sprawled across the floor of the dungeon room. It was freezing in the stone room. She sat up slowly, feeling her muscles ache.

Her eyes felt a little bruised. It was a feeling she got when she cried too much and then slept through it. It only happened when she really missed her mother after her death, or the day her father had told her she was going to be married to Gaston whether she wanted to or not. She had been fifteen then. She rubbed her eyes, curling up again as she had the night before, wondering if she was going to be allowed out of her cell today. Ever.

Just as she was thinking it, the lock unhitched itself, and swung open. She blinked in surprise, but stood up immediately. She walked hesitantly towards the door, as though it were going to swing back and hit her in the nose, but it stayed where it was, and she jumped through it. The other side of the door revealed no one's presence. She was alone in the hallway.

She looked back at the open door, and then up the stair case he had led her down in the darkness the night before, catching her skirts in her hands as she ran away from the dreaded room. She reached the first landing, and brushed stray straw off of her yellow gown. She looked down the hall to see that instead of doors, there were pillars.

She wandered towards them. After all, she had no idea what she was supposed to be doing now in her new life, and she wasn't about to go find the master of this castle to figure it out. If he wanted her, he would come and find her himself.

The pillars held in them a kitchen. It was extensive, and corroded with misuse and disuse. She made a face at the sight of it, leaning over the banister that connected each pillar to the next. She wondered aloud, "Does he even eat?"

"Yes of course dearie."

Belle leapt back, spinning to find him staring at her, hands behind his back. He stepped forward, and she stepped backwards.

"While you're here you could go ahead and clean this up," he gestured at the atrocity before her with twirling hands, turning away as he did so, "Oh," he looked back at her, his ghastly catlike eyes glancing across her, "and bring me some tea once you get the cups cleaned."

Belle blinked. Cleaning. He'd said something about needing a caretaker the day before. "Yes, um, right. I'll, uh, I'll get right on it." He left, and she took a deep breath, quailing her pride as she took the plunge into the grime.

By the time she'd found the porcelain cups amid the turmoil and the teapot and sugar bowl to go with it, it was after noon. When she'd found the right herbs to make tea, it was thoroughly tea time. On a tray she had polished until it gleamed, she gingerly made her way out of the still dirty kitchen to take her new Master his tea.

The tray rattled she was so nervous, the tea cups dangerously near cracking against one another, but no matter how hard she tried she could not get herself to stop. She walked up the stairs with as much balance as she could muster.

He was waiting at the dining table they had passed last night. He looked her way as she entered and began to speak to her in his cynical sing song voice, "You will serve me my meals, and you will clean the Dark Castle."

"I- I understand," she said, sitting the tray on the table, grateful for it's being there. She was sure if she hadn't put it down that instant she would have broken something.

"You will dust my collection and launder my clothing," he ordered, motioning with his hands.

"Yes sir," she nodded, pouring hot water into a cup.

"You will fetch me fresh straw when I'm spinning at the wheel." He pointed to the wheel, which reminded her of how odd she'd thought it the night before. She wondered about it, and then remembered she was supposed to be answering.

She smiled to herself, "Got it." She lifted the cup, ready to take it to him, looking up into his impish features.

"Oh. And you will skin the children I hunt for their pelts." Horrified she let the cup of tea slip through her fingers, searching his demeanor as the cup crashed to the ground. His face held a look of amusement, "That one was a quip." It still didn't register, the idea of it still too terrible, "Not serious," he grinned, giggling slightly.

She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breathe. She exhaled in relief, a smile passing over her face. So he liked to tease, she thought as she said, "Right." She knelt to retrieve the small porcelain cup she had dropped. "Oh, my," she realized as she saw the marred brim, "I'm so sorry but it's. It is chipped." She looked up at his face, watched him look around the table to see it, his brow furrowing. Had she brought on his wrath already? "Y-you can hardly see it."

"Well it's just a cup," he looked at her as though she were ridiculous for fretting over it, gesturing that it meant nothing to him.

She was relieved again, standing up to put the cup back on the tray and pour him a fresh one.

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

He considered her more closely. Fretting over a chipped piece of pottery he could buy another hundred of in an instant if he wanted to. It's not like he was going to bite her head clean off her shoulders. He wasn't quite that savage, but, then again, he could let her think that, pondering what to do with this girl.

She was proving not to be as annoying as he had hoped. He'd hoped she would be angry enough to refuse to work, but maybe she hadn't quite gotten over her terror yet. Her skittish behavior was still amusing him though, he decided as she walked from the room. He closed the large double doors after her just to listen for a yelp. To his dismay there wasn't one. He sighed and sat back in his chair.

The idea of her being here had been for personal amusement. She had a pretty face, and so he'd assumed she would be too arrogant to work for him. She was a wealthy merchant's daughter. Most thought they were high enough to become queens one day. Most girls like that wouldn't lift a hairbrush to their head in chance she might break a nail. He'd assumed she would refuse to work, and when that happened he would have offered her the deal.

She hadn't proved vain yet, or arrogant. She had given her life away to live with him in front of her father, her idiot betrothed. Time would tell who she really was though. But that smile… he recalled how easy, how true her smile was, how it lit her eyes. He'd never seen anything like it. He'd worked with people who had been so desperate, so vengeful as to want his help for so long he'd forgotten what a true smile was. He'd seen smiles of relief, smiles of hope, wickedly nasty smiles that people got when they realized their darkest desires could come to pass through him, but he'd never, never seen such a kind smile, a kind smile towards him, since his son-.

The wheel turned before him before he could let himself remember any further. It was a thoughtless task, something he could do and not have to let memories of previous lives interfere with his new one.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys, this is where I start to fill in the gaps. Let me know what you think! **

… **oh, and by the way, Belle is supposed to appear in March 4****th****'s episode! AH! I'm so excited! (I honestly didn't care so much about this week's episode when I heard… is that terrible?) **

Chapter 3

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

Ever since the girl had arrived she'd been something of amusement to him. She did her work without complaint. She'd scoured the kitchen and moved on to other rooms in less than a week. She asked him what he liked most to eat, and she prepared it for him. Prepared it in great style too, with silverware polished and set in the right way. When she'd put out three spoons and four forks he told her point blank that one spoon and one fork would satisfy him. He didn't need all those Royal habits.

She had even ironed his clothes. Ironed. It was something he'd never had done to his clothing, and he couldn't help but be impressed by how his clothes looked without wrinkles in them.

What was worst was that his plan wasn't working. Any task he threw at her she wasn't balking. He had told her to clean all the candelabra and the chandeliers in every corridor, and she merely responded that she had been doing that already. He told her he needed fresh flowers in every room he used, and she had gone out in the blizzard of snow and picked Snow Blossoms, and had found enough vases for all of them to be arranged in. He couldn't think of anything terribly gruesome for her to do. Well, besides clean his tower. However, he didn't need her grubby fingers rummaging around and finding something important, like a certain dagger, or falling headfirst into the dark spell he barely kept contained there.

She had been walking up towards his tower when he stopped her, grasping her arm.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, anger seeping into his voice.

"What's up there?" she wondered aloud, looking towards the spiral staircase.

"My tower," he answered with ease.

"That's where you are all day?" she asked curiously, still staring at in wonder.

"Where else would I be, dearie?" he posed with sicking sweetness in his tone.

"Making deals with other village girls," she said with a rue smile. "Certainly I'm not the first girl you've had to take care of your home, though I suspect it's been a few years or so."

"You're the first person I've ever allowed live in my house," he spoke with honesty that he had not meant to. He and she both stared at each other in awe for a moment, before he added nastily, "And if you want to remain you will keep away from my tower."

She had to stutter her way back into words, "W-well, I figured, you know, that since you live up there, that, I- I would need to clean it." She made to move towards the stairway, but he clamped down on her arm. She could not go up there. She looked at him, offended. "Let go of me."

"Only if you promise not to wander up there," he smiled, "Who knows what you would unravel if I let you peruse my sanctuary?" He told himself that that was the reason he hadn't let her up into his domain, but at that precise moment, he hadn't wanted her to see the spell he had been concocting. It was the darkest one he had ever tried to create, and it had been taking him years to separate dimensions with the darkness. He didn't think such a fragile thing could handle seeing it, much less being transported through it, without breaking apart. And he didn't need her ruining any more of his plans. She'd already failed his initial plan of using her for her first born, and that mess was all he could handle as it was.

As the days past he noticed her swirling away with a mop in the kitchen, and he learned to smirk at the smell of fresh baked bread, knowing how she was taking care to make it perfect by sitting, and waiting, and putting logs in the fire at just the right time and timing it just precisely. He had even found that she was even smiling more easily now these past few days. He didn't like to be foiled, but… he didn't mind that she was happy.

He found himself looking in on her, scrubbing the large ballroom floor, humming to herself. Humming. He wrinkled his nose, but said nothing. It wasn't quite disagreeable. It was just… something he wasn't used to.

She stood momentarily, startling him. He backed away from the doors, but she only stretched, reaching for the ceiling, which seemingly got her attention. It was a grand ceiling, vaulted, and painted delicately. Her eyes widened, trying to take it in, but the room was dark with the curtains draped over the windows.

His eyes flickered back to her when she moved, and he realized that she was dancing to her humming. She spun out, and then around again. Dancing with her invisible partner she turned once, twice, waltzing her way past her bucket and brush. He could see her partner, some tall, young idiot, looking at her, feeling happy he'd been brave enough to ask such a beautiful girl to dance, other couples joining them to dance in the imaginarily well lit ball room. And all the while she would be smiling at this idiot with her kind smile, looking at him with her brilliantly blue eyes. He didn't like the image.

He coughed. Interrupted, she spun to a stop, her song dying in her throat. She blinked at him and then realized what he had seen her doing. She was immediately embarrassed, "Oh, I um, I'm sorry, I just."

"Were dancing," he finished. She stuttered quite a lot when she was nervous he'd discovered.

"Yes," she looked around the room, and the ceiling got her eyes again. "I just, I haven't been dancing since the Ogre Wars have threatened our town. I- I miss it."

He didn't say anything. He didn't care to say anything. Dancing was something he'd never learned. Nor, he was sure, would he enjoy it.

"Don't you dance?" she asked, looking straight at him, a live, bright gleam in her eye.

"No, I don't." He was surprised she asked.

"You should learn," she smiled at him.

He gave her a skeptical look. "I'll leave the dancing to you, dearie." She nodded, still standing there. He didn't have time for this. He turned to go with a flourish.

"Wait!" she called after him. He peered around. This girl was puzzling him more and more often.

When she hesitated to speak, he asked impatiently, "Yes?"

"Um, my dress, it's, it's, well, it's," she stammered over her question, looking down at the filthy and wrinkled yellow once lavish fabric, and trying to flatten it out.

"It's dirty," he finished for her in a droll tone.

"Yes," she nodded, looking up at him again.

"And I take it you want a new one?" he relaxed an arm against the door. "Sorry, dearie, but I'm not going to buy you clothing."

"No, no," she shook her head at him, looking astonished at the thought, "No I just wondered if you had any spare material around the castle I could use. To make a new one," she explained half heartedly. He cocked his head at her.

"Make a dress?" he said in disbelief.

"Certainly," she smiled, "Mama taught me when I was young, when Papa was still poor. He made his fortune later, you see. I can make dresses, and shirts, and tunics, though I admit I've never tried breeches. I can mend and darn clothing too, if you wish it."

Offering to make and mend his clothing now too, besides just doing his laundry? Was this girl trying to foil his plans? He stood straight again, "I'll see what I have around for you to use." He'd find her the most course cloth he could find, he decided. A cloth sack, maybe, or a sheet of canvas. He'd certainly get her to ask for a deal sooner then if she were constantly uncomfortable.

"Thank you!" she called kindly.

Her thanks startled him as he continued to think. Maybe not the_ most_ course material…

~: Belle :~

Belle pulled a stitch through, and looped the needle into the fabric again. It was late, and she'd finished the work for the day, snuffing out the candles as she went. Now she worked by moonlight, but it would soon be too dark for her to work any longer, and she would have to finish her dress the next night.

He'd found her blue cloth, that was smooth to the touch, and even had brought her needle and thread that matched in color. She couldn't help but be grateful to him for it.

She'd been so worried he would turn out to be a beast, someone she couldn't stand, that hit her and hurt her and beat her when she made so much as one mistake. She had been so nervous around him, so anxious, expecting him to explode with the slightest change to his temper. But he hadn't proved to be that person at all. In fact, he was sometimes nice to her. If one said that his teasing equivocated to niceness.

He had laughed at her outright when she asked if it would be alright if she ate something. In hindsight it had been somewhat of a silly question, but she had been worried he would be angry with her. When she had asked timidly for a candle to begin work on her dress he'd given it to her with another teasing remark, and she could only smile. The candle was gone now, but she didn't need another. One more night of moonlight and her new dress would be done.

She continued to stitch, which she had thankfully remembered how to do. She had been seven the last time she'd sown anything bigger than a doll's dress or embroidered a pillow. Rusty though she was, she thought the dress might be good, and if not she could wear it out until she couldn't wear it anymore.

The moonlight vanished slowly, the moon too high to see by any longer through the slanted, grated window. She sighed, and folded the unfinished dress up next to her now clean and drying yellow dress before she stretched out on the pallet. It had been three weeks since she'd gotten to Dark Castle. Three weeks and three days. She was counting. She knew it was pointless to count but…

She wondered how her Papa was doing. She wondered if she would ever see him again. He'd be so worried about her, just as she worried about him. He'd lost his wife and now his only daughter. She could only wish he would be safe. She fell into a troubled sleep, hoping that he was alright.

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

He was waiting for breakfast when she brought it to him. He found himself rising earlier, glancing at the clock more when she was late. Each time it happened he would frown at himself, move more slowly, force himself to be late. He was being ridiculous But today she was late. Later than usual. He frowned at the mantle clock.

He heard her footsteps as they came towards his sitting place. He looked towards the door expectantly. When he saw her walk in he knew why she had been late. It was her new dress. She'd finished it, and the flowing material looked almost as good on her as the yellow, fancy dress had.

"I thought you'd run away," he sniffed at her as she walked towards him. Of course this couldn't have happened. Magic wards were set up to alert him in case of said event, but she needn't know that.

"No," she smiled, laying the tray down before him, "I'm not going to run away."

He was surprised by that, but didn't comment.

"If you don't need me anymore, I'm going to go start working on the other rooms," she said as he took his first bite. He nodded her dismissal, not thinking of any reason why she should stay. She turned to go, the blue skirts catching his eye again.

"Uh, Belle?" he said, pausing. Why had he called to her?

She spun back to face him, attentive, waiting for an order. He wasn't going to give her a new order though. He wanted… to ask her a question.

"Today, I'm going to be spinning straw," he said. He always spun, but he never had when she was in the room. He now wanted to reveal to her his gift. She looked at him intently, waiting, and he finally stated, "Will you help me?"

"Certainly," she beamed, delight spreading across her face, and he was stunned by her reaction. He hadn't expected her to be pleased. "I've been curious about your spinning wheel."

"Curious about it?" he was curious about her curiosity.

"Well it's obviously important to you," she said, watching him, "Else you wouldn't have put it in here with your collection, would you?"

"You didn't mistake it for some sort of lethal murdering device?" he grinned as she gave him a unconvinced stare. He rolled his eyes, "No, I suppose you wouldn't know that story."

"The Sleeping Beauty legend," she said easily. He gestured appreciatively.

"Your dress," he said, motioning to it with his spoon, changing the topic on purpose.

"Yes," she smiled broadly, "I've finished it," holding the skirts lightly. She was slightly spinning on the spot, the dress swaying. She was proud of it. He half smiled.

"Yes. I can see that," he said sarcastically.

"Thank you," she half curtseyed at him before rotating on the spot. She was leaving him. He wished she wouldn't go. And then he stopped himself from thinking it.

"For what?" he called after her.

"For noticing," And the blue dress and the girl were gone from his view.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Alright guys! Thank you for reading thus far! Tell me what you think about Belle's discovery! ;)**

Chapter 4

~: Belle :~

She sat on the platform edge, folding laundry looking intrigued as Rumpelstiltskin began to work at the wheel. "Why do you spin straw?" she asked, watching his expert hands move fluidly.

"Patience is a virtue, dearie."

She frowned at that, "Why do you only call me dearie when you're annoyed with me?" she made an exasperated face when he looked down at her.

"I don't know, _dearie_," he said pointedly. She rolled her eyes and smiled a bit. He was forever going to tease her. She was just going to have to get used to it.

They sat in silence for a while, Belle folding several shirts, when as the wheel began to turn, he whispered, "Watch." She looked up. From the straw he'd spun came gold. She gasped. Gold! Real gold! So he hadn't been lying when he'd told her father that he could make gold. She glanced up at him, to see him smiling, a peaceful look on his face. She decided that she liked him that way.

She passed him straw in comfortable silence when he was running low on his handful. She picked a stray piece off his clothing when it stuck. He glanced down at her in bemusement, and she just shook her head, a placid smile on her face.

The wheel was relaxing as it spun. She could see why he liked it so much. It took away thought and worry, and left her peacefully folding and watching him work.

Before she knew it she was dozing off.

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

He'd liked that she found him astonishing. Well, other than astonishingly monstrous. She'd gasped when the golden strands had first appeared, and now… He needed more straw. He looked down at her to find her asleep, slumped against the wall of curtains behind her. She seemed so peaceful there, a portrait to be painted.

He'd found her astonishing earlier. She had figured out his less than endearing "dearie" was only a term used on those he didn't like or wasn't happy with. It had been what he had called his once wife, a nickname he had used on her with true sincerity, until she had left him. His hands fisted at the memory. It had been a bitter word to him since. But Belle had picked up on it so quickly. She'd only been with him three weeks and four days, and she'd discovered it. He was counting. He wondered what she'd uncover about him with a year, and then what she would uncover with more. He stopped that line of thought when he felt a twinge of hope and a twist of guilt, and moved back to the thought of calling Belle "dearie." He found himself using it less and less on her these days. He would need a new term of endearment for her.

She shifted in her sleep. He looked to her, stopping his wheel.

She had been working hard since she'd arrived, without the merest sign of desperation or bitter anger. She was happy to work it seemed. He was surprised she was already cleaning the top floors. The kitchen had been bad enough, but when she got to the library she was going to be stuck there for weeks. That was a mess he hadn't dared even trying to sort out.

He sighed when he realized the candles were drooping. She would need to be in bed.

~: Belle :~

Belle rolled in her sleep, yawning, realizing there was sunlight on her face. She was glad of its warmth. It meant that spring was coming.

She blinked into the sunlight, and sat up. It took her a moment to realize she was in her room, when she only remembered having fallen asleep the night before on the spinning platform. She remembered that he could spin straw into gold. It sounded like a fairy tale. And then, she realized, she had a blanket draped over her. She had never had a blanket in her cell before.

Her door was open.

Wide open.

Rumpelstiltskin never left the door open. He'd always locked it with magic after she went to her room, and once or twice, just to tease her, he'd left it locked until she pounded on it, and called out to him to open her door. He'd then be there, smiling mischievously as she came out. But it was open.

She smiled fondly, and folded the blanket. It was going to be a good day.

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

She was laundering his clothes when he found her in the kitchen.

"Oh hello," she smiled at him, scrubbing a tunic of his gently.

"Good morning," he said softly. "How did you sleep?"

She looked startled at his request, "I – slept well. Thank you. How did you sleep?"

"I often don't sleep," he told her, sitting on the work table.

She turned to him, a pitying look across her face. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, my dear," he scoffed at her. He didn't want her pity. "It won't do me any good. Besides, there is no rest for the wicked."

"You aren't wicked," she said tersely, continuing her work.

She didn't know anything, "Oh, my dear you know very little about me still."

"That's what I'm learning," he heard the smile in her voice. She added some soap to the water, rubbing the cloth with her hands to get it sudsy. "What did you need me for?"

"I was coming to tell you to not bother with lunch today. I'll be out," he answered vaguely.

"Where are you going?" her voice was full of muted concern as her arms moved. Her hair shifted over her shoulders to reveal her pale neck.

"Someone else has- requested a deal from me," he told her truthfully. Of course he was not going to tell her anything else. She might learn the twisted nature of his deals and never spoken to him again. For some reason that idea bothered him. He realized he hadn't thought of making that deal with her, the one where he took her first born for a better life away from him. He could barely bear to think of it now.

"Oh," she spoke quietly, "Will you be here for dinner?"

"It depends," he smiled in his impish tone.

"On?" she stopped to look at him skeptically.

"On what you're making." Her laugh chimed as she went back to washing, and it made him smile. "I suspect I'll be back before tea," he told her honestly. He didn't know where his impulse to answer her questions came from, and he didn't like it. He didn't like that he was going to be gone for long enough for any possibility of escape from her. "And don't get any big ideas dearie," he told her sharply. "You're not going to be able to escape while I'm gone."

"I wasn't going to escape," she said gently, "I'm not going to leave you, Rumpelstiltskin."

He stared at the back of her head in surprise, and left without a word. He had a schedule to keep, and he didn't need her muddling that up too.

. . .

"You never told me!" she came rushing into the room later that day. Rumpelstiltskin's head jerked up sharply from the wheel in the direction of the shout. Normally she never bothered him after tea time until night had fallen, but she whirled into the room in a flurry of blue dress and feather duster, catching him completely off guard.

"Told you what?" he asked, taking in her features. She was glowing, brimming with excitement.

"That you had a library!"

He was taken aback, "A… library?"

"Yes! There are so many books! Have you read them all?"

"You're this excited… about a library?" he tone was full of condescension.

She didn't even seem to notice in her incandescent state, "I mean, I've never seen so many books in all my life! It's wonderful!"

"I take it you like to read," he said in a disinterested voice, but he was interested.

"My Papa would bring me back books when he got back from his trips, and I would be finished with them in a day or so. He used to get so frustrated with me for that," she sighed with a smile, lost in her memory, fiddling with her necklace that she'd brought with her from home.

He considered her again, before beginning to work at the wheel again, "You can borrow them, you know."

"Truly?" her voice made him glance at her. Her eyes were lit up like he'd never seen them.

"Yes," he managed to say through the cracked amazement, "but you have to get your work done still. You can't just hole up in the library all day." But she was coming towards him, and stopped at his side. "But it's yours. Yours to use, that is."

"Thank you!" she gushed, touching his hand with her own. "Thank you so much!"

And then she was gone, leaving him in a daze.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you again for all the reviews- I hope you continue to enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. You all are phenomenal! **

Chapter 5

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

It was another pleasant afternoon, with Belle cleaning the Spinning Room, as she'd begun to call it, though he would have called it his Trophy Room. She'd asked for a ladder, and he'd retrieved it for her, but he was spinning, so his mind was elsewhere when she spoke up.

"Why do you spin so much?" she asked. She had so many questions. It was something he'd learn to indulge or ignore. He ignored this question, turning back to his spinning. "Sorry, it's just you've spun straw into more gold you could ever spend," she tried again.

"I like to watch the wheel," he found himself explaining, "It helps me forget."

"Forget what?" she wondered aloud.

He wasn't going to answer that. "I guess it worked," he grinned mischievously back at her. She just laughed, and it chimed him back into reality.

He realized then that she was on the ladder, tugging at the long curtains that covered the windows. It was his turn to query after her, "What are you doing?" He stood up, looking at her in bewilderment. She could fall from such a height and never get back up again.

"Opening these. It's almost spring, we should let some light in," she stated, going back to her task. Her tugging proved unsuccessful of course. "What did you do, nail them down?" she demanded exasperatedly.

"Yes." Of course he had. What was the point of light ruining his furniture if he wasn't normally there? He'd stayed at Dark Castle longer since Belle had been there then he ever had in his entire time of owning it, or, since making a deal for it.

She smiled with a giggle, and yanked on them harder, struggling with them, leaning farther over to use more of her weight, determined to take the curtains down. And they ripped.

She slipped.

Fell.

He barely had time to feel the horror flash through him.

He moved at the exact moment to catch her.

Belle fell right into his open arms.

The light startled him, illuminating the room and stinging his eyes. She was looking up at him with her marveling blue eyes. He stared down, almost as startled, the light catching her eyes with brightness and beauty he hadn't seen the likes of. But more than that he was relieved. Truly relieved. She was safe. Safer at that moment than she had been. Because of him stepping forward. It was a feeling he wasn't used to.

"Thank you," she managed, and he took stock of himself. Of her in his arms, still in his arms, her still staying complacent there, in his arms.

He let her go.

"Thank you." She was a little breathless as she staggered backwards. He made to steady her, but thought better of it, waving his hands away instead.

"No matter," he assured her. She brushed at her dress, as though to unwrinkled it.

He began to move away, clear his head, when she spoke up again. He turned to listen.

"I'll uh- put the curtains back up," she sounded half hearted.

He nodded, as though it were a good idea, and then thought about it.

He paused to look at her again, "Uh- there is no need," he told her, motioning to her and then the curtains. "I'll get used to it."

She smiled at him then, and he was glad he'd spoken up. He walked away, thinking, touching his hand as though it had been magicked. He'd never felt so uncertain. Uncertain about what?

"I'll just take the other one down too then?" she asked, moving to catch up with his pace.

He nodded his consent, stepping back onto the platform. "Just do me a favor," he mentioned. She lifted a brow in query. He replied, "Don't fall off the ladder this time."

She rolled her eyes at him, "I'll try my best."

He grinned at his spinning wheel at her sarcasm.

~: Belle :~

They were in the Spinning Room again. She was finishing up dusting his many trophies he kept in the large window cabinet. He was, as usual, spinning. She shut the cabinet quietly so as not to disturb him, and moved to the mantle clock and candelabra that sat on a table. She smiled at the ornate pieces as she did so, and glanced at the large, cloaked object that sat on the other side of the room.

Peering back at him, she watched him spin contentedly. She'd never seen what was under that blanket. Boldly, she put down her cloth, curiosity getting the better of her as it often did, she tip toed over to it, glancing back every other step to see if he had discovered her yet.

Reaching the cloth, she reached for a hem, and dragged it away to reveal- it was herself. A mirror, she realized as she stared at the half image of her face and the decorative border. She made to pull the cloth farther back, when something stayed her hand. Rumpelstiltskin had caught her wrist and dragged it away from the cloth, letting it fall back over the mirror.

"Don't," he warned.

"Why?" she posed.

"Trust me, we don't want to bring that serpent head down on us," he smiled impishly, but the mischievousness didn't reach his eyes. The warning was clear. She let it go, and moved away, back to polishing the candelabra, and pondering what she had seen.

He covered the mirrors? Did he think himself ugly? He had referenced Medusa, but she did not turn to stone when she looked on him, but did he? Did he hate being reminded of his look? What a sad state, to think oneself so ugly that they covered the mirrors so as never to look upon himself. She bit her lip. He was not ugly, but perception was difficult to change.

She would have to work on that.

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

He knew she was there the moment she stepped into the room.

"Afternoon, my dear."

It startled her, as it usually did. She wasn't used to him knowing everything yet. Well, she would get used to it. After all she was stuck in this castle forever.

"Good afternoon," she sounded cheerful as ever as she put down a tray bearing what he knew would be tea. He didn't turn from his spinning, despite his want to do so. He wanted to see the way she stood as she made up his afternoon tea. He wanted to see her small, delicate hands stirring his cup as the silver spoon clinked against the china. He wanted to see her small, constant smile that played across her lips as she did all this, but instead he stared at the wheel that went round and around, forgetting, always forgetting.

"Ouch!"

It was his turn to be startled. He looked around in surprise to see her wiping away hot water from her hand on her dress.

"What happened?" he questioned, forgetting to take time walking over to her.

"Oh, I just spilled water-," she smiled apologetically, still clutching her hand in the folds of her skirt. She was always smiling, no matter what happened. He wanted to catch her hand in his.

He repressed the ridiculous urge, "You're alright then?"

"Yes," Her gaze met his for a little too long, but he did not look away. Her eyes were so iridescently blue, something he could study for hours and still not know everything about them. Finally she looked down at the tray again, as though looking for something to do. Seemingly remembering what she had been doing she dabbed at the excess water on the tray, before finishing her task. With a graceful sweep she brought up a cup of tea for him.

"Careful," she smiled at him. "It's hot."

He took it from her hands, a little dazed by that smile. Dazed by the fact that it reached her eyes. Dazed by her.

He turned away, "Yes, thank you for that," he said sarcastically, re-cooperating. He took a swallow of the tea- and felt the odd shaped brim. It was the chipped cup she'd broken her first night. He couldn't help but smile then too.

"Can I have some also?" she asked, touching him on the shoulder.

She'd touched him. "Some of what?"

"Can I have tea with you today?" her smile was kind.

He could not refuse her. She poured herself some, and then slid onto the table, perching there and sipping her tea. He leaned against the side of table next to her. They sat in companionable silence. He wondered what Dark Castle would be without her now.

~: Belle :~

It took her so long to sort out the mess in the library she had forgotten how to clean real rooms properly. That library had needed alphabetizing and dusting, but she had not minded at all. In fact she had loved it. Now she knew where every book in the library was. Every morning she woke up early, and every night she drooped to bed late, organizing books on bookshelves that stretched wall to wall to wall at least ten feet high.

All those ideas, all at her fingertips. It was a wonder to her that she could now read about anything she wished. It was a wonder that once she hadn't known this place, hadn't had these halls, these rooms in her head. It was a wonder that she now ate her meals with Rumpelstiltskin in the Spinning Room every day instead of eating snippets and scraps in the kitchen, by his request no less. It was a wonder that he'd replaced his term of endearment for her. It wasn't much, just a syllable shifted, but she noticed. He called her, _my dear_ instead these days.

He would ask her about what she'd read, or how work in the library was coming along. She would ask him about his day if he'd left, which he did every so often since she'd started working in the library. She was lonelier when he did leave. Somehow she knew when he was gone. She would go looking for him sometimes when she felt the aloneness take her, just to confirm her suspicions, which were always right. He was back before dinner though, and each time she was happy he was back.

Now that she was done working in the library she had moved on to other rooms. It was a day that he was missing, she felt. It had been eight weeks that she had been at Dark Castle. Eight weeks and six days. But she did not count for her Papa anymore. She counted them to remember that she had not been at Dark Castle all her life.

The room she was in now was smaller. A bedroom no less, but small, with a wide window. The bed was also large, lavish and four postered, and took up nearly all the room. She dusted it, and swept away cobwebs, as she had in the other rooms, but in this room there was something different. There was a dresser, instead of a wardrobe. She maneuvered around it to open the curtains of this room, which came apart with ease.

Curiosity overcame her when the light revealed one of the dresser doors to be slightly adjar. She peered inside it.

Inside was clothing. Small, tattered clothing that looked well worn. She drew out a small shirt, with rough material. It had to be for somebody who was younger than ten. She handled it gently, before moving on to the other clothes. Other shirts, trousers, socks, a cloak she pulled from the dresser. She sat back on the bed, astonished.

All the time she had been with Rumpelstiltskin if he'd had a piece of clothing to mend he would tell her to throw it away. She suspected it was because he didn't want her doing extra work, but the fact was, why had he kept all of these old clothes. For the tarnished appearance she could not fathom why he would keep them. Had they been his clothes when he was younger? Or… had there been a son?

Belle often wondered at the enigma that was his past. He was always deterring the conversation from him onto her, and teasing her when she pressed further. He would not answer anything she asked, and honestly, she couldn't ask much for lack of questions to ask.

Now, with the possibility of a son… She didn't know what to make of it. Had he been married before? If he had, had he been… human?

She put the clothing back the way she had found it, and left the room, pondering as she worked on half a dozen, much larger bedrooms before going down to make dinner for the both of them. He had missed tea that day for the first time. It had unsettled her, but she knew he would be hungry when he got home.

. . .

He wasn't home yet.

She sat, waiting for him as the candles melted away, watching as wax dripped. She let it drip, knowing she would clean it up later, but she was willing to clean it up if it meant she knew he was home.

This wasn't like him. He informed her if he was planning on missing a meal, but he never missed two, and never without telling her. She was worried…

She never had liked his going to deals. Dealing meant that he held something over someone else's head for something they needed. Why couldn't he help willingly and without anything in return? She knew he would say something along the lines of, "He wasn't a fairy godmother."

Something evil had been rooted in him, deeply, but she knew now without a shadow of a doubt that there was good in him, that underneath it all he cared despite the darkness's corrosion. He had been mean and course and unrefined. But now he was dear, and so she was sure, there was something there she hadn't seen before.

She only wished he would come home.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: We left poor Belle waiting for Rumpelstiltskin… **

Chapter 6

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

Ogres. Always so unpleasant to deal with. Humans were much less aggressive, and a lot easier to find.

He staggered into the Spinning Room, clutching his side. A stupid ogre had clubbed him before he'd killed it. He was more frustrated with himself than he was in pain. He'd not been able to make a deal, and on top of that, had angered probably half of the ogre clan in the attempt.

He clasped the high backed chair on the way in, and saw, in disbelief, Belle, fast asleep in it. She awoke with a start when he peered around the chair at her in amazement.

"Rumpelstiltskin?" she blinked in the darkness.

"Belle?" his disorientation thickened his tone. "What are you doing here?"

She stood, facing him. "You didn't- I was just- I couldn't sleep," she said, bowing her head. "With you gone- where were you?"

_With you gone._ "I was, making a deal with a clan of ogres. They didn't exactly appreciate what I'd offered them," he grinned, trying to placate her fretting.

"Your brow- What happened?" she reached her hand to his forehead, her finger tips tracing on a wound that he hadn't felt before. Now he felt it, a burning where her skin touched his, but the fiery line left as soon as her hand retracted. "Let me get you some hot water. We can clean that up."

"Don't worry about me," he said dismissively, "It'll make for a handsome scar."

She laughed at that. "I'll be right back."

"Belle," he caught her hand. She faced him again, her hand closing around his as his did hers automatically. "Go to bed. It's late."

"But-," she protested.

"I've got a magic potion in the tower," he invented, to stop her fussing.

"Can I see this magic potion?" she asked indignantly, taking her hand from his and placing both on her hips.

Ah. She was learning that he lied to her. "No."

"That is because it doesn't exist," she said impatiently. "Just let me take care of you."

"I'm not a child, Belle," his voice held warning.

"Then stop acting like one," she fumed.

He narrowed his eyes. "Your father's village is in my hands, dearie. Don't make me go back on our deal and leave your village open to those beastly ogres."

She pursed her lips, "It's been a long time since you've called me that."

He paused mid thought, anger abiding. His rage turned to shame, which quailed his tongue, argument falling short.

"I'll leave you to your own devices, then," she said, turning on her heel and leaving him alone in the darkness.

He ground his teeth together, and took the book out of the pocket dimension. He took one look at it, and almost ripped it to shreds. He snarled at it, angrily. He'd brought it back for her, for her to read. She'd been so excited about the library, so excited about books, that he'd brought one back for her, had been going to tell her that he was going to start collecting books, and have her go put this one away. Now? Now it would not happen.

He slammed it back in the pocket dimension, and stormed to his tower.

~: Belle :~

"You're angry with me," he said at dinner that next night bluntly.

She didn't say anything. She wasn't angry with him. She was furious with him. He'd threatened her village, held it over her head once more as though this contract she was participating in meant nothing. That she meant nothing.

They sat on opposite ends of the table, which was something she never normally did. She sat next to him on his right on her stool, but today she could not manage it. She hadn't taken breakfast or lunch with him, but he'd demanded she'd come up for dinner when she'd shut herself in her room. He had threatened break the down the door. She hadn't been able to refuse.

She picked at her food absently, not eating a bite. She couldn't make herself. Her stomach was in too many knots. She was fuming, but she hated to be angry in general. It just made life too complicated.

He was livid. He slammed his fork on the table, making her jump. "What do you want me to do, Belle?" he yelled at her. "What is it that you want?" He stood, grasping the table. "Do you want to look at my wounds? Would that make you feel better?"

"You shouldn't hold my village over my head when you've sworn to keep it safe!" she burst back. "You promised that my family and my friends would all live!"

He paused again, when she knew he knew she was right. He sat back down again, leaning away from the table and covering his mouth in frustration.

They sat there in silent tension, neither of them able to form descent words to express themselves. She felt the discord between them, felt it weigh on them. Disharmony was something Belle had never liked. She avoided it when possible. It's why she had agreed to marry Gaston, because her dad had needed the money and the connections. She had known then that she would never love Gaston, but she had done it, for her father, for her village, and because she couldn't stand the thought of others angry at her because she had refused a wealthy man. Now she and Rumpelstiltskin were at ends with one another. She couldn't continue this way, could not continue to be angry with him, but he could not do as he had done. She could not stand for her town to be in jeopardy while she was constantly forced to walk on egg shells. She had just thought that they were past the threat, past the anger, only to have it swell again so. She had to fix it.

"As long as you promise to never do it again," she said evenly, catching his attention immediately, his catlike eyes darting to meet hers. "_And_ as long as you do let me look at your injuries," she smiled lightheartedly, "I forgive you." He glowered at her. She had gone a bit too far. "And I in turn apologize for my own aloofness," she added, "It was not fair for me to act as such."

He sat there, staring at her for a long time. She wondered if she could have said anything differently, was wondering what to say now, when he removed his hand to speak. He muttered, "I will not hold your village to your conscience any longer. You and I have made the bargain, and it will not be undone by me." She smiled warmly at him. "However," he leaned towards her. "I will heal on my own."

"That you shall," she agreed with sarcasm, "And when you heal, and then are infected by sickness enclosed in the wound, then what?"

"Then you shall dance about, for I shall soon be dead," he folded his hands in front of his chin.

"I would not dance at your death," she told him, affronted, anger spiking again. He couldn't just assume that. How dare he?

"You'd be free," he motioned, unfolding his hands and motioning his arms wide.

"I don't think I would be," she said before she realized what she was saying.

He sat back, stunned. She recognized that it was true, and didn't retract her comment. "I'm going to go get some warm water," she stood, trying to relieve the tension that had strung across the room, "You stay there," she pointed at him, as though pinning him to his chair. He only scowled at her.

When she had brought back warm water, and a bit of wine from the kitchen she stood before him, unfolding the cleanest towels and rags he'd been able to find. He sat there, clutching the arm rests as though she were about to apply hot irons, and impatiently fiddled as she looked at the cut on his forehead with concern.

"This isn't necessary. An infection couldn't kill me," he ground out between his teeth.

"That's not what you said earlier," she wrung out a rag after dipping it into a basin of warm water.

"Well I lied," he hissed.

"Yes, you tend to do that," she said shortly. She bent to look him in the eyes, "Maybe you should think before you lie."

He muttered something under his breath, but she didn't catch it. She could feel he was still angry with her, but she didn't know how she could help that at this point. She could only help it heal cleanly.

"Hold still," she ordered him.

He fidgeted away as she tried to place the cloth on his forehead.

"Just hold still," she told him, trying not to reveal her impatience as she tried again to press it against his brow. She successfully managed to dab the cloth across his eyebrow.

He growled, "That hurts!" He winced away from her furiously.

"If you'd hold still it wouldn't hurt as much," she scolded him irritatedly, sitting on her stool next to him, reaching up to pat at the wound again. "Now hold still, this might sting a little."

He made a grumbling sound in his throat when she managed to wipe at it again.

"By the way," she said, pressing it to his head, softening her voice, "Thank you. For leaving my door open every night." She had never said it until then, but she couldn't think of anything else to distract him. That, and she truly appreciated what it meant. She was trustworthy to him. And, she was free in his household to do as she wished.

"You're welcome," he muttered, trying to sound angry, but he couldn't hide the fact that he was pleased she noticed. She smiled warmly at him when he looked her way.

She never could tell him that here, trapped, she often felt freer than she had in her manor since Gaston had become her fiancé. Gaston had been everything a fiancé was in the stories. He was gallant, and he brought her gifts. He told her often how beautiful she was, and that he was so fortunate to be her love. But, she knew, he would have been that way towards any girl he had been assigned to marry. He would have brought her the same gifts, paid her the same compliments, been just as overbearingly obnoxious at following her around as he had been with Belle. And he had followed her. He went outside when she was outside, he had forced her to have tea with him every afternoon. He didn't like it when she helped the maids with the chores around the house. He demanded her attention when the jousting competitions begun each year. He didn't care a whit for her books or her stories.

Rumpelstiltskin listened to every story she had to tell, she realized as she sat at the large window in the Spinning Room that night, in her night gown. He let her speak to her heart's content, and when he spoke, it was in honest conversation, and not in false pretense to just keep her happy. They did argue over subjects, and she was slowly finding that he often argued the opposing side to just get her temper going. And then she would see him grin after she had gone overboard on a subject, knowing that he'd been playing the devil's advocate.

She just could not force herself to stay mad at him, even if he was angry that she had cleaned him up, even if she did hold her village over her head, her own life over her head. She could not stay angry with him. He was too kind, and gentle despite his attempts to fight it back…

Snow fell outside the window, and she never got over how quiet snowfall was, and how bright it made the world even in the darkest of nights. It was so serene, tenderer than any rose petal, as silent as a whisper.

"It's the last snow of the season."

She leapt at the sound of his voice.

He stood next to her, smiling at the window, his impish look lit by the white glow, teasing as usual.

"Must you do that?" she demanded, curling up into a ball, realizing too late she was only in her night shift.

"I must," he assured wickedly, and she smiled despite herself, shaking her head. If he was teasing her that meant that he wasn't so angry with her anymore. It was a comfort to her, she thought as she shivered in the cold. She hadn't realized she was shivering, and tried to lock her muscles to keep it from happening unsuccessfully. Besides her she felt the air shift, like she often did when he preformed magic, and looked over to see him pulling cloth from thin air. A moment later he draped it across her. It was beautiful, decorative cloth, with a constant velvety pattern she had only seen on the likes of royalty, green and leafy.

"Thank you," she spoke meekly, not sure what else to say to him. The smile that was on his face now was not mocking or teasing, but, and her breathe caught when she recognized that it was sincere as he stared through the window panes out into the night.

"How do you know?" she whispered after a few moments of companionable silence, "That it will be the last snow."

"There are some things I know, my dear, that I am gifted to know," he said simply.

She smiled at the phrase "my dear." "What is having magic like?" she asked, her voice full of wonder.

He hesitated, she could feel it. "It's, powerful, but tricky, and elusive, but mastered, the potential astounds even me sometimes." When she looked at him speculatively, he repeated, "Sometimes."

She only laughed softly. "You're lucky, Rumpelstiltskin."

He was downcast when he responded, "There are some that say my magic is a curse."

"Then they are wrong," she said, standing, and made to hand the cloth back to him.

"Keep it," he told her, wrapping it around her again, "Turn it into another dress."

"I couldn't," she tried.

"You will," he pressed, and she felt the tension tighten between them once more.

She looked away, frustrated again, "I don't like to argue with you Rumpelstiltskin."

"Nor I you, my dear," he admitted quietly.

She sighed, smiled, and accepted, feeling the cloth beneath her fingers appreciatively. Maybe she would not turn this fabric into a dress, but perhaps a cloak? "Thank you," she spoke gently. When she sensed he didn't believe her, she continued, "Truly. I sometimes feel I shall never repay you for your kindness."

"Kindness," his voice scoffed at her, not looking at her.

"Goodnight," she whispered to him, reaching towards him to touch his cheek, but stopped herself. She turned, stepping away quickly, shock coloring her mind and face.

"Goodnight, Belle," she heard him say before she left the Spinning Room.

She smiled, her fingers touching her mouth, the memory of him in the moonlight, the softness there, instead of the rigid, angry backed monster the night before. She was happy that they were no longer fighting. She was happy he was home, that he wasn't off on a deal. She was happy, no, incandescent, that he had given her this cloth, a present to her, something she had not ever expected from him. It was something she would treasure.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the** **shortness of the chapter today all. I am writing two of these, if you didn't know, so I've been trying to balance it all out. Forgive me! **

**OH! And you guys! Pictures of Belle in the flashbacks for the show on March 4! ACK! XD Here's the link - **.com/2012/02/belle-is-dreamy-on-once-upon-a-time/

Chapter 7

~: Belle :~

It was tea time again. It had been three days since their argument, and two days since they had made up, and he had seemingly forgiven her. He'd even been kinder to her, teased her more often. She began to ask questions again, and ate by his side. He hadn't left on a deal since.

She was reading a new book that she had once loved, sitting on the pallet next to him, but the Greek Myth had lost her favor when Theseus merely assumed the Minotaur was only a monster, weaving his way through the labyrinth with the gold thread Ariadne had given him.

The minute he slayed the Minotaur, and relished it, she slammed the book shut.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked her, stopping his spinning.

"Nothing," she lied. He looked at her pointedly. He knew when she lied. He looked down at her book, reading the title.

"Something upset you?" he queried, and then his voice turned sarcastic, "Was the Minotaur too terrifying?"

She made a face at his mocking tone. "No, Theseus upset me."

"Theseus?" he was surprised, "But he's the hero of the story."

"Is he?" she wondered aloud, frowning. "I don't think so."

"He killed the monster," he spoke as though it explained everything, making claws out of his hands to match a sneering face.

"That doesn't make him a hero," she said irritably. How could he say that? Killing a monster just made him a murderer.

"It doesn't?" he turned away, as though he was disinterested, but his back went stiff, as it often did when he wasn't expecting what she had said. It didn't happen as often now. He was getting to know her better.

"No, it doesn't," she affirmed.

"It must be his handsome good looks then," he teased, flipping a lock of hair back from his forehead.

She rolled her eyes at him, before looking out of the window at the blooming spring day. "I'm going to go get tea ready," she said, standing up smoothly and dusting off her skirt. He nodded, and pretended that she didn't notice when his eyes searched for her as he stepped out.

She pressed her back to the door as it closed, breathing deeply. She was so confused with herself. It was all so new, and a bit alarming. She couldn't believe that she could possibly … but, could she? True, he was no knight, or a Prince Charming, but… could she possibly even?

No. She couldn't, because he would never care for her the same way. A pang of sorrow shot through her. He would never feel the same way that she did about him. Maybe he was fond of her, but he could never love-

She stopped herself short. Love. She bit her lip, catching at her mid drift. It was painful, and yet… she knew she loved him. But how could she stay, and fall more deeply in love with him, when he would never ever love her? He was trapped in darkness, showed by evil, but those clothes, those clothes for a little boy, did it prove that he had been a man once? That once he had not been dark? But… she found herself shaking. Could he ever be a man again? If the answer was no?

She felt her chin trembling.

No.

She had to be brave. And if that meant that she couldn't love him because the darkness in him could never be taken away, then so be it. She would try not to love him. She took a deep breath, and blinked away the tears that had been so threatening only seconds ago. She would get the tea. She would give him the tea. She would finally ask him about the clothes in the small bedroom. She would see if there was no love in his heart… And if there wasn't?

She felt her heart tremor at the thought.

What power only thinking the word love had over it. She wondered what it would be like to say it aloud. Her heart soared at that, thinking to herself, maybe…

~: Rumpelstiltskin :~

She had come in with the tray a few moments ago, and had filled two cups on the tray with tea. One was the chipped cup. He took it without thinking. She turned to face him, and walked towards the table.

"Why did you want me here?" she asked, perching on the table as she often did at tea time.

"The place was filthy," he said flippantly. He couldn't tell her the original reason, that he'd intended on using her for her first born. He couldn't image doing something like that to her now. He couldn't imagine marrying her off to some idiot Prince. He couldn't bear the thought of her having the idiot's child.

"I think you were lonely. I mean any man would be lonely," she said truthfully. He looked at her, searching her face. There was something there, as though she'd decided on something.

"But I'm not a man," he reminded her, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. How he hated that about himself sometimes, a lot more often these days, but he settled down next to her comfortably, companionably.

"So I've had a couple of months to look around, you know," she started, as though this was something she had been thinking about, "and uh up stairs is uh clothing, small, as if for a child?" Ah, he should have known she would have discovered his son's things. "Was it yours or was there a son?"

He looked at her, not sure of himself, how to tell her that she had guessed correctly, sadness seeping into his soul as it always did when he spoke, or thought of his son. He would have run to the wheel, to spin, to forget but Belle was looking into his face, searching him for answers. "There was. There was a son," he found himself telling her. He often told her too much, found himself answering things that he never meant to answer, "I lost him. As I did his mother." He couldn't keep his tone checked this time. Pain was etched there.

"I'm- I'm sorry," her voice was full of concern. Yes he'd lost them, but not in the way she assumed. He couldn't tell her the whole truth. Not when it could ruin her image of him. The coward, Rumpelstiltskin. He bent his head. "So you were a man once, an ordinary man," she tried. He kept himself composed at this conclusion to her thoughts, and didn't say anything, but she queried further, "If I'm never going to know another person in my whole life can't I at least know you?"

She knew him so well already, but she wanted to learn his past. It was something he could not speak of. She would leave him. "Perhaps," he pretended to consider, putting down his tea cup, "Perhaps you just want to learn the monster's weaknesses? Neh, neh?" he pointed at her. "Neh, neh, neh." No she would not learn anything from him today. Not when he needed her good opinion. He would always need her good opinion…

"You're not a monster," she said with that pointed look in her beautiful eyes, "You think you're uglier than you are- that's why you cover up all the mirrors?" she thought she knew everything. She didn't need to know he kept the mirrors covered to keep out wicked witches that thought themselves queens. "Hmm?" she smiled when he didn't answer.

A knock came at the door.

It was not often people came to the actual door. There were often magical means sent to get his attention, signs and letters on the road, sometimes even carrier pigeons, but most were not brave enough to actually come and bang on his door so loudly.

Rumpelstiltskin looked over his shoulder, perturbed.

As he answered the door, the idiot knight that had been haunting the deep recesses of his mind, Sir Gaston, stood, pointing his sword at him. The idiot had pointed a sword at him before, if he recalled correctly, but he had smacked it away. Didn't the brainless creature learn that no ordinary steel could harm him?

Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes as the man began some speech he'd been planning to give during his little rescue mission, and decided that this was the last time the man would point a weapon at him. With a point of his finger and a swift grin, Gaston became no more. In his stead rested a delicate red rose.

He smiled at it, wondering if he should smash the bud. Something made him hesitate. What would Belle think of her ex betrothed as a present? His grin only widened. He could offer her so much more than a rose, but something vindictive caught at him. She had once been promised to this man. Had she feeling for him still?

It didn't matter either way. The idiot was gone now, out of his way forever.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while! My other story just took off, and this poor one was left hanging- anyways, I hope you all enjoy! :D**

Chapter 8

~: Belle :~

She craned to see who it was, but didn't see anyone coming, or leaving. She made a face, and stood away from the window as she heard Rumpelstiltskin come back into the room.

"Who was that?" she queried.

"Just an old woman selling flowers," he said, meandering in. She thought she detected a lie there, but she was more curious as to what he was holding behind his back. With a flourish that was very like him, he offered her a beautiful red rose, "Here," he said as she gasped quietly in stunned surprise, "If you'll have it."

He had gotten her a rose. She took it from him, admiring its smell and its beauty, looking into the bud. "Thank you," she curtsied elegantly. He bowed gentlemanly in return, and she could only smile. It was such a kind gesture, she decided, half swaying her way over to her cleaning box to retrieve a pair of scissors. Could it mean something?

"You had a life Belle," Rumpelstiltskin said, surprising her. "Before this. Friends. Family. What made you choose to come here with me?" he asked, sitting down. He rarely asked questions about her past. Maybe it was because she had asked about his?

"Heroism," she decided, though she didn't know if it was right, "Sacrifice," she turned, opening up the large cabinet, "You know there aren't a lot of opportunities for women in this land to show what they can do, to see the world, be heroes," she said, retrieving a small silver vase. This was all true. It's what she had dreamed of as a child, but it was something she knew she would not be able to do when her father and Gaston's had created a pack. She had thought she might persuade him to take her places later in life, but be a hero? Never. "So when you arrived, that was my chance," she made her way over to the table, "I always wanted to be brave. I figured do the brave thing," she said, cutting the stem of the rose in a diagonal slice, "bravery would follow."

"And is it everything you hoped?" he said almost mockingly, but she could tell he was genuinely interested. She put the vase with the rose in it on the table.

"Well um, I did want to see the world-," she said, sliding back up to her perch near him, "that part didn't really work out," she looked at him sideways, teasing, "but uh I did save my village."

He touched his fingers together, "And what about your uh," he hesitated, sounding annoyed and trying to hide it, "betrothed?"

She was surprised he'd remembered that she had been betrothed. "It was an arranged marriage," she said almost in a detached tone of voice, "Honestly I never really cared much for Gaston," she told him truthfully. She thought about his shallow expressions of love he had given her, and she realized she had never cared for any one of them as much as she cared for the rose Rumpelstiltskin had offered her.

She considered this, "You know to me love is, love is layered. Love is," she tried to express how she saw love, and found herself drawing from her only experience. She had only ever even considered loving one person, and she hadn't fallen in love with him by looking at him. She had discovered who he was, had discovered what she liked about him and disliked about him through experiences they had shared, how even now, even though she was in love with him he was an enigma to her, "A mystery to be uncovered," she smiled thoughtfully at him. "I never could give my heart to someone as superficial as he," she realized how silly she must have sounded, how ridiculous she must seem to him, speaking of love. She quickly changed the topic. "But um, you were going to tell me about your son."

"I'll tell you what. I'll make you a deal," he said, considering her over his fingertips. She immediately put on a mask of a face. A deal? She didn't want any more of his deals. She hated his deals. "Go to town, and fetch me some straw. When you return I'll share my tale."

"But uh," she paused, not knowing what to say, "town. You trust me to come back?"

"Oh no," he said, his voice trying to hide something, "I expect I'll never see you again."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: You guys it's been far too long! Forgive me, I'm sorry! I know it's not terribly long… but here is something! **

Chapter 9

~: Belle :~

Belle was running. She was. Because he did not expect to see her again.

The thought hurt her heart. He didn't expect to see her again- he was getting rid of her. He was hoping she was going to run. He wanted her to leave.

Did he?

It was such a decision- because she didn't know what to do. She should go back to her father's house, go back and live the life she had left behind, but for some reason, everything at home seemed so two dimensional she could barely stand the thought of it. There was more adventure to be had out there, in the world… but she'd never thought she'd have any adventure, any life really without him… he'd become so permanent in such a short amount of time. Maybe because she had promised him forever, and her mind had been so set on that.

Still was so set on that…

She had promised, hadn't she?

She should go back.

But he didn't want her to.

But she had promised.

She hadn't packed a single thing, not that she really owned anything other than two dresses and her cloak… but she had brought a basket to carry the straw home in.

She was still so undecided. She didn't know.

She just didn't know.

She half ran along the road, hoping for something to tell her, let her know what to do.

Because she couldn't decide…

Behind her she heard a carriage- horsemen. She stopped, turned to listen, before skipping to the side, out of the way.

It was an entourage- a fleet of black horses drawing it, moving quickly- with so many horses, they were obviously in a hurry-

So it was a surprise when the carriage stopped next to her, and a woman clad in just as much black leaned out of it.

"Did my carriage splash you?" her voice was concerned and yet she was smiling. And Belle couldn't help but feel wary of her- that was ridiculous for her to assume though. She was just in black- what if she was in mourning and here she was judging her- but the woman still set her teeth on edge.

"Oh no – I'm- I'm fine," Belle replied with a timid smile, casting her gaze down at herself to find her dress and stockings mostly mud free. She turned to leave.

"I'm tired of riding," the woman declared, catching Belle's attention again, "Why don't I stretch my legs and walk with you for a spell?" What could Belle do but accept? This woman was obviously rich, and most likely of royal blood with so many men to escort her. She couldn't refuse. Belle couldn't think of a single thing to say to her as the woman in black started to walk with her, putting up a lavish umbrella to hide her pale skin from the sun. She was very pretty, Belle thought, dark lips, beautifully featured, but there was something about her eyes… "You carry very little," the woman said blatantly, startling Belle away from her contemplation.

"Oh I –uh- don't want to be slowed down," Belle offered, focusing on the road ahead of her.

"Ah, you're running from someone," and Belle couldn't help but wince at the words. She _was_ running from him. "The question is master or lover?" Belle looked away. How had she known-? "Ah, master AND lover," smiled the woman, and Belle couldn't help but feel a spike of anger towards this woman. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything rash.

Belle slowed to a stop, "I might take a rest you- You go on ahead."

The woman wrapped an arm around her shoulder, making her walk along. Belle was astounded, but the woman continued, "So if I'm right you love your employer, but you're leaving him."

Oh she didn't know- she didn't know if she was leaving him, "I might love him- I mean I could except, something evil has taken root in him." Saying the words aloud made it real. She could love him… except he was dark, wrong. Just like this woman-

"Sounds like a curse to me." A curse? She might have suspected, but, "And all curses can be broken. A kiss born of true love will do it." Belle paused- a kiss? "Uh child no," continued the woman, "I would never suggest a young woman to kiss a man who held her captive hm. What kind of message is that?"

Belle was still trying to process, "Right."

"Besides, if he loves you he would let you go," the woman told her languidly, "and if he doesn't love you, well then, the kiss won't even work."

"Well he- he did let me go," Belle said with a half smile- hope rising in her heart. Had it been love instead of annoyance for him to grant her freedom? He loved her? And love- love would break his curse?

"Yes, but no kiss happened," the woman reminded her, stopping.

"And a kiss? A kiss is enough? He'd be a man again?" he would no longer be- evil?

The woman bent to look her in the eye, "An ordinary man." Belle paused, looking at her amazement. She had been her answer. This woman had let her know- and now she knew what to do. She would- she was going to kiss him, and then he, and then they-

"True love's kiss will break any curse," smiled the woman.

And even though this woman had been her answer to her problems, Belle couldn't help but not like her smile, the triumphant look in her eye.


End file.
